


“September in the Rain”

by AhmedA01



Category: 1960s Music Scene RPF, British Singers RPF, Music RPF, Rock Music RPF, The Beatles
Genre: M/M, Sailing, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AhmedA01/pseuds/AhmedA01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> John gets caught in a tropical storm and it makes him realise certain things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“September in the Rain”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously. Unfortunately.

The forecast had been for a clear and sunny day, with a very light chance of showers.

Weathermen are fucking tossers, the lot of them.

What was supposed to be a peaceful boat ride around the crystal clear waters of Bermuda under a beautiful blue sky became a fucking fight for survival. Nothing is ever that simple, you know. No, I got caught in a fucking tropical storm, somewhere off the coast of Bermuda. Fuck, I could’ve been tossed halfway across the Atlantic, for all I know!

Standing on the deck of the  _Megan Jaye_  was near impossible, the turbulent waves crashing atop me and the boat every bloody second. The schooner was tossed further and further from shore, taking me into the far reaches of the ocean, its current pulling me towards unknown waters. And if I had it my way, I’d rather they remained fucking unknown!

I seriously thought that I was going to fucking die out there.

I remember scrambling across the slippery planks as I tried to tie down the sail, the slippery wet rope sliding painfully out of my grasp and whipping into the air and around my head, barely giving me a chance to dodge the potentially painful lashing. In desperation, I had fallen to my knees, my head bowed low as I prayed to a god,  _any_  god, that would help me get through this fucking mess.

I’m only 39! Too fucking young to die, and certainly not yet willing to deprive this world of my presence yet.

So, I knelt on that wet deck, eyes closed as rain fell upon me like so many sharp-tipped bullets, the wind ratting in my ears, as I tried to imagine something. Absolutely anything at all that would serve as some source of strength and solace.

And fuck me. I saw  **him**.

I saw his bloody face grinning at me, that insufferably sweet smile that he’d always shoot my way, usually rendering me speechless. I saw him pinching my cheek and tweaking my chin, hazel eyes twinkling mischievously as he practically skipped away from me, laughing as I undoubtedly gave chase. I saw him grabbing me around the waist and pulling my body into his as he peppered kisses along my jaw, over my closed eyes, on my forehead, and on my lips.

And I saw the tears in his eyes the night that I told him that it was over.

I knew at that moment that there was no fucking way that I’d let myself die. That there was no way in hell I’d leave this fucking world without one last attempt at reconciliation; without one last goodbye.

It was this thought that forced me unsteadily to my feet, and helped me call on whatever seafaring gene Freddie had passed on to me. So, with a torn length of rope, I lashed myself to the wheel and steered myself through the cyclone, bringing myself and the  _Megan Jaye_  to safety. Huh. I suppose Freddie was good for something then, wasn’t he?

When I stumbled to shore, clothes ripped and plastered to my back, I practically fell into Yoko’s anxious arms, but as she held me close, I couldn’t help but think about the images that had assaulted my mind when I thought I was so close to death. And that’s the pisser, isn’t it? You’d think that I’d see Yoko, Sean, maybe even Julian, but no. I had to see him.

Shit, it’s not like I’ve even given him a second thought these past couple of years…

Oh, fine. That’s not entirely true. The truth is, well, I haven’t been able to quite get him completely out off my mind. And trust me, I’ve tried. Oh boy, have I tried.

The fucker is in my head. Always has been and always will be. He’s the first person I think about when I open my eyes to greet the day and he’s the last person I see when I close my eyes at the end of it. No other person in my life has ever left this huge a mark on me. It’s just like that bastard. Ingratiating himself in everyone and everything, and no matter how hard you try you just can’t be rid of him. He’s always been annoying like that.

Of course, he’d never let me live it down if he ever happens to find out about this. Not that I’d ever tell him. And I’ll kill the man who does with my bare hands! Peaceful, non-violence be damned.

So, here I sit, sunlight pouring through the large windows in our little whitewashed bungalow overlooking the beach. The storm from yesterday cleared out the clouds and left the sky a bright, clear blue with just the slightest hint of an ocean breeze wafting through the open windows and gently rustling the white gauzy curtains.

Oh, so here is the lovely day that the weathermen promised us yesterday. Fucking bastards…

A sudden beam of sunlight illuminated the phone in front of me, as though it was some bleeding manna from heaven. A goddamned sign. I know that I should call him. I fucking know that I should be the one to make the first attempt this time around, but it’s going to be difficult as all hell.

I think that can be attributed to the fact that I practically threw him out of my house the last time he came around. So, that will definitely not be working in my favour.

But I have to try, I know that much. So what if the phone conversation dissolves into bitter words, insults, and petty bickering? At least we’ll have made contact again, and anything is better than not speaking at all.

I just, I just would really love to hear his voice right now. And who knows, maybe it’ll help us fix some of the damage that has been done to our relationship.

Fighting for survival as my boat tried so hard to throw me off made me realise something: Life’s short.

Yes, I know. It’s trite, sappy, fucking moronic, and utterly lacking in profundity, but I never fucking claimed to be Christ. Bigger than him perhaps, but not him.

But it’s true, you know. Who knows when we’ll snuff it? It could be today, it could be tomorrow. Hell, maybe it should’ve been yesterday! So, isn’t that more the reason to mend bridges rather than burn them?

So, I gather whatever courage I have, lift the receiver, and dial the numbers that I memorized long ago but never had the fucking balls to dial until this very moment.

Now, I’ve never been the most patient man, so, when the phone rings, rings, and rings, I’m this close to hanging up. Of course, this  _impatient_  excuse could just be me masking the fact that I’m a fucking pussy, and am too scared to actually talk to him. But why overanalyze these things?

But just as I’m about to hang up, the ringing stops, and a very familiar voice answers with a husky, sleep-roughened “Hello?”

Silly me. I probably should’ve taken the time difference into consideration when I called him. Oh, it’s okay. It’s only 5 AM in England anyway.

But hearing that voice brings a huge grin to my face, and at that moment I realised something that I had been trying to unsuccessfully deny all these years.

I love him, and I, well, I never really stopped.

Swallowing nervously, and with that same bloody grin on my face, I say the only thing that comes to mind:

“Good morning, Macca. How are you doing, mate?”


End file.
